The Potions Lesson
by thusspakekate
Summary: Hermione isn't as brilliant in potions as she expected. When Slughorn suggests Pansy tutor her, the unhappy girls have their first real conversation in six years. Warning for language, smoking, and discussions of teenage sexuality  oh the horror!


The size of Hermione's hair was an unfortunate side effect of her magic. When she was happy and calm, her hair fell down to her shoulders in luxurious, golden-brown curls. When she wasn't, the ends began to split and frizz, the curls fell limp, and the whole thing grew around three inches in height. Her hair was about as big as it had ever been that cold February morning. Hermione stared in disgust at the dark brown sludge in her cauldron, willing it to turn the shimmering, translucent blue that Professor Slughorn's example batch had been. Her first attempt had been a dark blue. It wasn't correct, but at least the it was in the right color family. Her second attempt had been deep purple and a bit lumpy. Whoever said third time's a charm was a goddamn liar, because this looked more like a vat of coffee grounds than a potion.

Hermione let out a loud groan and sat down with a huff, staring at "potion" as though it were toxic waste. And what was that smell? Maybe she _had_ accidentally brewed waste of some sort. Slughorn floated over to Hermione's table and peered into the cauldron cautiously. He tutted for a moment and then vanished the offending mess.

"Miss Granger, would you mind staying for a moment after class?"

Hermione's heart sank, she'd never been asked to stay after class before. She gave a resigned sigh, "Of course, Professor."

The sound of someone snickering pulled Hermione from her self-pity and inflamed her anger. She didn't need to turn around to see who was behind her, she knew that malicious laugh anywhere. It belonged to Pansy Parkinson. If Hermione was the brightest witch of their age, Pansy was the biggest bitch.

Slughorn smiled warmly at Hermione. Without turning to face the other girl he added, "You too, Miss Parkinson."

The snickering stopped immediately.

Hermione shot the pug-faced bitch a smirk over her shoulder. Pansy responded with a nasty sneer. As she turned around and began to pack away the left over ingredients, Hermione realized that the potion she'd seen in the Pansy's cauldron was the correct shade of pearlescent blue. Well, Pansy was sitting next to Draco and everyone knew he was a genius at Potions. He must have helped her, if not done the whole thing himself. Pansy was probably asked to say behind so she could be upbraided for cheating. Hermione smiled to herself and wondered if the other girl would get kicked out of class, or maybe even school, for that.

As class ended and the other sixth-year students shuffled out of the classroom, Hermione and Pansy gathered their belongings and made their way to Slughorn's desk as the front of the room. They exchange glares, full of loathing.

"Miss Granger, I've noticed that you've been having a bit of trouble lately," Professor Slughorn began. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, to insist that she could keep up. He waved his hand to stop her. "The potions we are currently learning are very difficult indeed, but they're only going to get harder. I'm concerned you may not be able to pass your NEWT without additional instruction."

Hermione studied her shoes. She wanted to crawl into herself and cry. Academic failure was her biggest fear. Well, maybe she was more afraid of Lord Voldemort, but only slightly.

"I would like Miss Parkinson here to tutor you."

Two pairs of eyes widened in shock and horror.

"You've _got_ to be kidding!" Hermione blurted, so thrown by the comment that she forgot she ought to be speaking to her professor with more respect. "But she's as thick as a troll!"

"Hey!" Pansy yelled in indignation. "I'm not the one who needs her hand-held like a bloody first-year to get through lessons!"

"Language," Slughorn reminded his pupil with a stern look.

Pansy shifted and mumbled an apology.

"Miss Granger," Slughorn turned his kind, but penetrating gaze onto Hermione. "Miss Parkinson is at the head of this class and is more than qualified to—"

"But that's only because she cheats! She cheats off Malfoy!" Hermione cried in desperation. Slughorn must have been truly round the bend if he thought that Parkinson could possibly tutor her.

"I do not!" Pansy's growled lowly, her lips curling.

"Miss Granger, that is a serious allegation, one that I hope you wouldn't be so imprudent as to throw around without evidence." Hermione felt herself shrinking in shame, of course she didn't have any evidence. "It is also an allegation that I simply do not believe. Miss Parkinson here has all the makings of an excellent Potions Mistress."

"Thank you, Professor," Pansy gave a small curtsey to Slughorn before shooting Hermione a smug look of self-satisfaction.

"I expect you find this arrangement agreeable, Pansy?" Slughorn asked.

Pansy gave a labored sigh and gave the other girl a disapproving once over. "Fine," she crossed her arms indicating that she found the task anything but.

"Splendid!" Slughorn clapped his hands together as if completely oblivious to dangerous waves of animosity radiating from the two girls.

"Meet me here Sunday after dinner," Pansy barked, before turning on her heel and stalking out of the room with such dramatic flair that even Professor Snape would be impressed.

Hermione turned back to face her professor, a desperate plea for deliverance written clearly on her face.

"Hermione," Slughorn began in a gentle tone. "It is clear that there is no love lost between you and Miss Parkinson, but she really is the best potions student at this school. Please, try to put aside your differences and accept her help. I know how much your studies mean to you. Don't let your pride get in the way of your ambitions." Slughorn gave a quiet chuckle, "That's the advice I'm usually giving to my Slytherin students."

Hermione sighed, "You're right Professor. I'm sorry for my outburst."

"It's fine, child. Now, off with you!" Slughorn waved his hands, shooing her towards the door. "And don't come back until you can successfully brew today's potion," he added with a wink.

Hermione made her way down the dungeon corridor. At least she had the weekend to try and come to terms with the fact that she, Hermione Granger, would be accepting academic assistance from Pansy freakin' Parkinson of all people.

The weekend came and went with a blur. There was a quidditch match, a trip to Hogsmeade, and plenty of coursework to be done. At dinner on Sunday, Hermione couldn't stop from stealing curious glances at the Slytherin table across the hall. Pansy and Draco sat in the middle of the long table, domineering the conversation as though they were holding court. She studied the other girl, wondering how the dim-witted and eternally giggling Parkinson had managed to become the best potions student at Hogwarts. Pansy was the kind of girl, as far as Hermione could tell, who spent more time reading _Witch Weekly_ and the Society section of The Daily Prophet than her textbooks.

Hermione was startled when a pair of steely blue eyes met her's. She hadn't realized she'd been staring. Pansy held her gaze for a moment before giving a sly smirk and turning to whisper something in Draco's ear. Draco's head shot up. Hermione felt a warm blush creep its way up her neck and she dropped her gaze quickly. She shoveled a few bites of mashed potatoes into her mouth and swallowed them down with a large gulp of pumpkin juice.

"All right," Hermione said to Ron and Harry as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, "I'm off then."

"Where are you going?" Ron asked, bits of potato falling from his overstuffed mouth.

"I've got some revision to do before Potions tomorrow," she answered matter-of-factly as she collected her books. It wasn't technically a lie. She spent so much time revising, no one would have reason to think otherwise. She hadn't told her friends about the tutoring. She wasn't yet willing to admit that she needed someone else's help—_especially _not Parkinson's.

Hermione made her way to dungeons, dragging her feel all the while. She knew she'd get there before Parkinson, but she still wasn't in any hurry. She wanted to delay the inevitable as long as she could. She finally reached the potions classroom and placed her books on the table where she normally sat. She went to the supply cupboard and began to pull the ingredients she'd need for the potion. She was neatly arranging the ingredients in order when she heard a teasing voice cut through the silence. Hermione stiffened.

"Well, well, well," Pansy said as she sauntered through the empty classroom door. "I've got to admit, I'm surprised to see you're actually here. I was sure you'd chicken out."

"Why would I do that?" Hermione asked, her nose in the air. "I'm not scared of you."

Pansy smiled like a cat, just waiting to pounce, "Maybe you should be."

"Really!" Hermione huffed. "Can we just get on with this? I don't feel like playing your games tonight, Parkinson."

Pansy's face fell. "Oh, all right. Spoil sport," she grumbled.

Hermione crossed her arms across her chest and stared at the other girl. Pansy just blinked and stared back.

"Well?" Hermione demanded.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you supposed to be tutoring me? Showing me how the great Pansy Parkinson makes her perfect potions? I'd understand if this particular one is too difficult for you though, it's not a hair potion after all."

Pansy ran her hand down the length of her short, black bob, smoothing the hair. The effort was made redundant by the fact that not a single strand was out of place. She gave the rat's nest on top of Hermione's head a pointed look.

"Too bad for you then."

"God, Parkinson," Hermione snapped. "Why do you always have to be such a bitch?"

"Me? The bitch?" Pansy rounded on Hermione. "You're the one who started it! Do you even want to be here, Granger? Because if you don't, I've got better things to do with my time than try and help such an ungrateful swot. You can be the one to tell Slughorn you thought yourself too good to accept my help."

Slughorn's words flashed through Hermione's mind. She was letting her pride get in the way again. There was just something about Parkinson that needled her. They were so different in every way that whenever they were forced together (which wasn't very often, thankfully) the pushed apart like oppositely charged magnets. Why couldn't it have been anyone but her?

"Fine, you're right," Hermione conceded gracefully. "I'm sorry."

Pansy gave her a sharp nod before turning her attention to the table on which Hermione had laid out all the supplies.

"I'm not going to do it for you. Brew the potion like you normally would. Maybe I'll be able to see what you're doing wrong."

Hermione read over the instructions once more and began to prepare. She sliced, diced, and ground the valerian, lavender, and rat's tail into a fine paste before adding it to her cauldron and pouring in a bottle of rainwater. With a tap of her wand, a flame appeared underneath. When the mixture began to simmer, she levitated three whole frog brains over the cauldron and let them fall with a splash.

"I do the same thing," Pansy said with a wrinkled nose, "I love Potions, but we're expected to touch the nastiest things!"

"Tell me about it," Hermione answered. "If get out of class without dead bug or dried blood all over my robes, I consider it a successful lesson."

With a flick of her wand the flame grew. They'd have to wait twenty minutes before the potion was ready for the next step. Pansy peered into the cauldron and gave the mixture a terse nod.

"It looks like it might be a little thick, but its too early to tell."

Hermione sighed and sat down on a stool. With elbows on the table and her chin resting on her hand, she glared angrily at the potion. "I just don't understand, I followed all the instructions correctly, didn't I? Why should it be thick?"

Pansy pulled out the stool opposite and sat down. "Brewing potions is more than just following instructions," she said with a shrug. "It's not like baking a cake, you can't just throw everything together and expect it to rise."

"_You_ know how to bake?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Why wouldn't I? I am a woman of varied talents," said Pansy haughtily. "And I just happen to have a bit of a sweet tooth," she added with a grin.

As they slipped into a casual silence, Hermione used to opportunity to study the other girl. She could hardly believe that they were sitting alone in the same room and not hexing each other. Ten entire minutes had passed without an act of violence. Despite all the horrible things they'd done and said to and about each other over the past six years (well, that Pansy had done and said to _her_ more like) she was finding their banter almost enjoyable.

Pansy pulled a slim silver case from her robes."Do you mind?" she asked as she pulled a long white cigarette from it.

Hermione stared at her in shock. "You smoke? I didn't know you smoked."

"Why would you?" Pansy asked as she lit the cigarette with the tip of her want. "Want one?"

"I don't smoke," Hermione said shortly. "It turns your teeth yellow."

"So? Just brew a teeth-whitening potion," Pansy said with a shrug as she took a deep breath, pulling the cool smoke into her lungs. The end of the cigarette glowed brightly. Pansy exhaled, courteously turning her head away from Hermione. She conjured an ashtray and flicked off the ash at the end. She tried to ignore Hermione's smug look but couldn't.

"What?" She demanded. "There is nothing wrong with a few personal hygiene potions."

"Personal hygiene isn't the same thing as vanity," Hermione pointed out. She had been right about one thing, Parkinson's interest in potions wasn't purely academic. "And you wouldn't even need a teeth whitening potion if you didn't have that nasty habit."

Pansy rolled her eyes, "Spare me the lecture, Granger. I know you're above such petty, mortal concerns such as physical appearance. That much is obvious. If I just admit to being a vapid and shallow ditz, will you leave it?"

"I'm not saying you're vapid and shallow," Hermione said defensively.

"But you're thinking it," Pansy interrupted.

"I'm just saying," Hermione continued, "that you could probably be quite clever if you spent less time thinking about trivial things like your looks and boys and just applied yourself."

Pansy didn't turn her head before she exhaled this time, blowing the smoke directly in Hermione's face and causing the Gryffindor to cough.

"I _am_ clever, Granger. I'm out ranking you in potions, aren't I?"

"Well, yes, but..." Hermione wasn't quite sure but what.

"But nothing. You don't know anything about what kind of marks I make. You don't know anything about me, full stop."

Hermione blushed, knowing the truth behind the other girl's words. "I just...well...you never participate in class. In all the years we've been in school, I've never once see you volunteer an answer. You're always sitting in the back with Malfoy, passing notes and hexing people. I just assumed..."

"Just because I don't feel the need to show off all the time doesn't mean that I'm stupid," Pansy spat. "You probably still think that I cheat off Draco, don't you? He sits in the back of the class passing notes and hexing people with me, but you're willing to believe that he has earned his academic standing. Why not me, Granger? Why is it so impossible for you to think that I'm not completely brain dead?" Pansy dragged on her cigarette angrily.

"Because you _are_ vapid and shallow!" Hermione hollered. She wasn't sure why she was suddenly so upset, but she could feel the anger growing in her belly. "As long as I've known you, Parkinson, you've done nothing but pick on other girls for their clothing, their hair, their blood-status. All you care about is fashion and boys. You fawn over Malfoy like he's a bloody rock star! And Merlin, the sound of your giggling is like nails on a chalk board! You're insipid! You act as though you don't care what people think of you, but if you didn't you wouldn't so desperate to be the center of attention all the time, would you? I mean really, could you possibly wear your skirt any shorter? I think there might be some third-years in Ravenclaw tower who can't see your knickers from here."

Pansy stood so quickly that her stool fell over behind her. She grabbed her wand from the table and mumbled a quick spell. A pale blue light trickled from the tip of the wand and circled itself around Pansy's thighs. Three inches fell from the bottom of her skirt, which was now so short that her knickers would show if she bent over more than a few inches. She locked eyes with Hermione and threw her shoulders back defiantly.

"Yes, Granger, I _can_ wear my skirt shorter. I'll wear my skirt as short as I bloody well please, thank you very much. Because what I do with my life and my body are nobody's business but my own."

"Don't you have any self-respect?" Hermione scoffed.

"You're such a hypocrite, Granger. Trying to encourage me to put less effort into my appearance, when its obviously all you bloody care about. Who cares if I use hair potions or wear my skirt short? What the bloody hell does that have to do with my marks?"

"Because, Pansy," Hermione began, the use of the other girl's first name was dripping with sarcasm, "No one will take you seriously if you—"

"If I what?" Pansy interrupted again. She had a habit of doing that. "If I act like a girl?"

"No," Hermione's patience was being pushed to the limit. "If you act like an complete moron."

"There's the fault in your argument," Pansy sneered, stubbing her cigarette out angrily. "I don't act like a moron, I act like myself, and who I am is _not_ a moron. I'm the highest ranked girl in my house, the sixth highest in the entire school. Your problem with me is that I actually enjoy being a girl and doing all the _trivial_ things—as you so charmingly call them—associated with our gender. You're the one who conflates the two. You think you're so special, so mature, so much better than the rest of us because you're 'above' silly, girlish things, but you're not, Granger. You're just a sad, boring cow.

"Better a sad, boring cow than a stupid, desperate slag," Hermione shot back.

In a flash, Pansy had her wand out and pointing at Hermione's chest, "I'll hex you, I swear it."

"Do it then," Hermione goaded. "I told you already, I'm not scared of you."

A tense minute passed. Neither of them moved, their eyes locked in mutual hatred. A muscle in Pansy's firmly set jaw twitched. And even though her eyes were aflame with anger, she slowly lowered her arm.

"Fuck, Granger," Pansy groaned resignedly, leaning against the table. "I don't want to fight with you. I just want to get this over with so we can get back to our own lives. You with your books and sense of self-righteouseness and me with my good looks and bevy of lovers," Pansy gave a sarcastic hair toss.

"Bevy of lovers?" Hermione couldn't help but laugh at the other girl's word choice."Really, Parkinson? Bevy?"

They could feel the tension in the room dissipating.

"Well, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration. But I wouldn't want to upset your opinion that I'm stupid, desperate slag," she responded, but with the slightest hint of teasing humor in her voice.

Hermione blushed and glanced to feet again, "Sorry, I called you a slag." She knew better, knew it was the sort of insult that she hated to hear other people use. The kind of sexist, low-blow insult she thought herself above making.

Pansy shrugged, "I've heard worse." With down turned eyes, she added, "Sorry I called you a sad, boring cow."

An uncomfortable silence stretched as both girls struggled to think of something to say. It was a totally surreal experience for the both of them. For two people who had hated everything about each other for almost six years, this was probably the longest conversation they'd ever had. The fact that they were apologizing to each other instead of ripping at each other's hair was the most unsettling thing of all. Hermione felt guilty after every insult she hurled and Pansy found she wasn't getting her normal sense of glee that came with pushing the Gryffindor's buttons.

"Let's check on your potion," Pansy broke the silence by reminding them why they were there in the first place.

They both peered into the cauldron. Pansy made a displeased click with her tongue. "I can already tell its too thick..."

"But why?" Hermione groaned in frustration. "You saw me! I did everything right."

Pansy picked up her stool and sat on it again, her eyebrows furrowed in thought. She had watched Granger and the other girl hadn't made a mistake. So why was the potion so obviously wrong?

"Let me ask you something, Granger," Pansy began after a moment of thought. "What are you thinking about when you brew? What do you think about when you prepare and add ingredients?"

Hermione shrugged, "I don't know. I guess I'm just concentrating on making sure I'm getting everything right. Which is why I can't figure out why its always wrong."

"Maybe that's your problem then."

"What is?" Hermione wasn't following.

"You do realize that potions is still magic, right? Like I said, its not the same as baking. The ingredients are magical, but you can't expect them to do all the work. It's the same as with charms, you have to be thinking about what you're doing while you do it. The ingredients need _your_ magic in order to activate properly."

Hermione's expression was still colored in confusion.

"How many different uses does wormwood have?" Pansy began again. She held her hand up to stop Hermione when she saw the other girl opening her mouth to answer. "That was a rhetorical question, Granger. How does wormwood know how to react when you use it for Drought of the Living Dead as opposed to the Elixir to Induce Euphoria? You have to concentrate on what you're trying to produce _as a whole_ when you brew, not each individual step. In a way, you're kind of _over thinking_ what you're doing. Potions is an art, not a muggle science."

Hermione pursed her lips in thought as she considered the other girl's words.

"Well, how come I haven't had any problems before this?"

"I imagine it has to do with the complexity of the potion and its ingredients. Simple potions with fewer ingredients have less possibility to react together incorrectly. The more complex the magic, the more focused the thoughts need to be. Same as charms, transfiguration, and the lot."

Pansy vanished potion in the cauldron. "Let's try again, but this time, concentrate on what you're _trying_ to do, not whether you're doing it right or not."

Hermione nodded and began to prepare the ingredients for the fresh batch. As she added them to the cauldron she imagined the potion as it should be in her mind's eye and thought of the effect it has supposed to have. She turned the heat of the flame up and stepped back. Pansy peered inside, using the end of her wand to stir the mixture.

"Definitely thinner than last time," she nodded.

The girls sat down and began their second wait of the night.

"Can I ask you a question?" Hermione asked in nervous voice.

"If you'd like, but I don't promise I'll answer," Pansy answered with a sly grin.

"Why are you doing this? Helping me, I mean."

Pansy studied Hermione, deciding how best to answer the question. It was innocent enough, but Pansy was unsure how much of the truth she was willing to reveal. After a minute she just shrugged, "I'm Slughorn's assistant."

"Slughorn's assistant? What does that mean?"

"It means, I assist him," Pansy answered unhelpfully.

"Yes, but why?" Hermione pressed. "If you're top in the class, you probably don't need extra credit."

Pansy sighed and pulled the silver case from her robes again."Sure you don't want one?"

Hermione fell for Pansy's distraction and stared at the cigarettes. She knew she shouldn't, but the smallest part of her thrilled at the idea of doing something so forbidden, so uncharacteristically wrong. She was already miles outside of her comfort zone, why not go all the way? She wasn't sure if it was her Gryffindor tendency to act on impulse or the influence of Pansy's Slytherin love of mischief rubbing off on her, but Hermione reached out and pulled a slim, white cigarette from the case.

Pansy smiled and lit both of their cigarettes with the tip of her wand. Hermione mimicked the other girl's actions and hesitantly inhaled the smoke into her lungs. Instantly, she went into a coughing fit. She was worried the other girl would make fun of her for her faux pas, but besides an amused smile, Pansy didn't react.

Hermione tried again and this time didn't cough. After a few more silent puffs, she had the hang of it and could feel the cool smoke filling her mouth and lungs. It was an odd sensation and not nearly as repulsive as she'd imagined. She studied the cigarette in her hand.

"Are these muggle cigarettes?" She asked in surprise.

Pansy nodded, leaning back and blowing an elegant smoke ring.

"Well, color me shocked. Princess Pureblood enjoys something muggle," Hermione joked.

"Dunhill Menthols and _EastEnders_. What can I say? We all have our guilty pleasures."

Hermione's jaw almost hit the floor. "You watch _EastEnders_?" She couldn't believe that the heiress to one of the oldest Wizarding families in Britain had something in common with her own muggle, dentist mother.

"Tracey got me into it, she's half-blood," Pansy explained with a flick of her cigarette. "My parents had a fit when I asked to have a telly installed at the estate. But I got my way in the end. Always do," she added with a devious grim.

Hermione just shook her head and laughed.

"So," Pansy continued as she took another long drag from her cigarette and studied Hermione closely. "Since you're learning all these new, unexpected things about me—I'm not a troll and I don't hate_ everything_ muggle—tell me something I don't know about you. Shock me, strip me of my preconceived notions."

Hermione considered this for a moment. She knew very well that other people thought of her as an uptight, humorless swot. She never let other people's opinions bother her, well, not too much at least. She was confident and happy with who she was and thought anyone who wanted her to be different could take a cool dip in the Black Lake. She wasn't going to change herself to suit popular opinion and expectations.

Hermione blushed as she realized something that would probably blow the other girl away. "Well," she began slowly with a sly grin, "I'm not a virgin."

It was Pansy's turn to cough. "Really? With who? The weas-I mean, with Weasley?" She caught herself.

"No."

"Come on, Granger! Spill! I won't tell, I swear. Slytherin's honor!" Pansy could barely contain her excitement.

Hermione shot her a pointed look, "Slytherin's honor? Do you really think that counts for something?"

"To me it does."

"Okay...well, do you remember who I went to Yule Ball with?"

Pansy cast her mind back two years and tried to remember the night. She had been so caught up in how fine Draco looked in his velvet dress robes she had trouble picturing anything besides him. But then she remembered seeing Hermione, who had looked positively—and surprising—beautiful, on the arm of...

"No way! Victor Krum? But-but, he's so fit! And famous!"

Hermione couldn't help but feel a little smug and secretly hoped she had made the other girl jealous.

"I can't believe that. How come no one knows? If I had shagged Krum, I'd be screaming it from the astronomy tower."

"I never told anyone, figured it wasn't their business. I'm not ashamed or anything, I wouldn't deny it if anyone asked. But no one ever has. I guess they just assumed that I'm not that kind of a girl."

Hermione thought she could see approval in their other girl's look.

"Want to know something that might surprise you?" Pansy asked, even though she was a little unsure as to why she was telling the other girl this.

Hermione nodded, intrigued. If Pansy found her meager sexual experiences so fascinating, she couldn't help but think how exciting what the other girl had to say was.

"I am."

Hermione stared at her in confusion.

"A virgin, that is," Pansy explained.

"But-" Hermione couldn't believe her ears. "Everyone says...you and Malfoy? You don't? You haven't?"

"Almost everything but. I don't know, I just don't feel like I'm ready. Part of me wants to, I think about it enough, but it just seems so...intimate. I love Draco and I want him to be the first, but I don't know if I'm ready to trust him with this." Pansy gave a shrug, "So, everyone says I'm a slag, everyone says you're a prude. Looks like everyone is wrong. Wouldn't be the first time."

"Well, why don't you tell people otherwise? You're not embarrassed, are you? It's nothing to be embarrassed about, you know."

"Of course I'm not embarrassed!" Pansy said in an offended tone. "Really Granger, as if I were capable of something so common as embarrassment. I guess I just feel the same as you. I wouldn't deny it if anyone asked, but they don't. They just assume. So I let them keep assuming because what good does it do to deny? They'll only think I'm lying to save my reputation. Besides, there are some definite perks to being the school slag."

"Like what?"

"Ok, well maybe I do get a little help with my coursework," Pansy said with a grin. "But not in Potions! That's all me. And honestly? I like the attention. I haven't paid for a butterbeer at Three Broomsticks once."

"Oh Pansy," Hermione began, the feel of the other's girl name on her tongue was odd, but felt fitting at the moment considering the intimate nature of their conversation. "Don't you think its wrong to lead them on like that?"

Perhaps it was the fact that the other girl had used her first name, but Pansy wasn't offended by Hermione's admonishment. "I don't lead them on. I've never made promises, I've never offered anyone more than I'm willing to give. If they're going to listen to rumors and pursue me based on misinformation, why shouldn't I exploit their advances? They're trying to use me, so I use them instead. I might as well benefit from it somehow."

"How very Slytherin, and for once, I don't mean that as an insult," Hermione grinned.

Pansy laughed and stubbed her cigarette out, "I wasn't sorted there just because of my blood, I assure you."

Hermione looked down to her own neglected cigarette. She ashed it and took another careful drag. "You don't worry about getting caught? What if someone smells these?"

"We're in the dungeons, Granger! No one comes down here besides other Slytherins. And we're not about to rat someone out. Well, actually, we will. If it was just you, you'd be right to be worried. But you're with me, so no one will say anything." Both girls took a moment to reflect on the oddity of that statement. "Besides, if your potion turns out anything like it did in class, they won't be able to smell it over the scent of rotting shit."

Hermione let out a loud scoff of mock indignation. She had to admit, she was impressed by the idea that Slytherins were capable of loyalty, even if it only was to themselves. It was more credit than she'd ever thought to give them. She winced as she thought of the times she and her friends had reported on each other, but then she remembered the times they hadn't. She wasn't sure which she thought was better.

"Come on, let's check on your potion again."

The girls stood and peered into the cauldron. The swirling liquid inside was the right consistency and had a opalescent sheen.

"Looks good," Pansy nodded. "Do the next part, and remember to concentrate on what you want the potion to be."

Hermione looked at her book again and began to lay out the supplies for the next section. She prepared her ingredients and followed the instructions she was given, both by the book and by Parkinson. When she finished, she looked up hopefully.

"All that's left is to say the incantation and see," Pansy encouraged.

Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated. She waved her wand, mumbled the incantation, and tapped the side of the cauldron lightly. The mixture bubbled and slowly began to turn that beautiful shade of shimmering blue.

The girls shared a grin.

"Looks like you did it! You are officially a NEWT-level worthy potions mistress!" Pansy laughed as she tapped Hermione on the shoulder as if she were the muggle queen bestowing honors upon her subject.

"Thanks," Hermione said shyly as she began to ladle the potion into an empty vial. "You didn't have to do this."

"Actually, I did. Slughorn's assistant, you know. But don't worry about it, its not every day I can say that I am better at something than Hermione Granger. Although now that I've shared my secret with you, you'll probably beat me at potions too."

"About that, why are you Slughorn's assistant?" Hermione hoped her voice sounded more casual than she felt. Pansy clearly didn't want to talk about it earlier, but the curiosity was killing her. "If you don't mind me asking," she quickly added.

Pansy gave a labored sigh and stared wistfully at the swirling liquid left in the cauldron. "It's no secret that my father's in Azkaban. Anyone who has read The Prophet in the past eight months knows that. But what people don't know is that the Ministry froze my family's accounts and seized a lot of our assets. My mother has been hawking her jewels to keep up the estate, but I don't want her to have to sell more than necessary. Some of those things have been in our family for centuries. They're worth a lot on the market, but I think they're worth more to her. I get a stipend for helping Slughorn, so she doesn't have to worry about sending me pocket galleons. The rest I'm saving in an account of my own for when I graduate, since I'm not of legal age and haven't had any charges brought against me the Ministry can't touch it."

This revelation startled Hermione. It hardly seemed fair to her that the Ministry was taking money from Pansy and her mother as retribution for her father's crimes. "But, they can't do that. How can they take your mother's money if she wasn't involved? She wasn't, was she?"

Pansy gave a short snort, "No, my mother is a dutiful pureblood wife. She doesn't interfere, she doesn't participate. She just does her wifely duties and suffers the consequences of her husband's actions." Her voice was full of disdain. "Part of me pities her, but part of me resents her inaction."

"You...you _want_ her to be an active death eater?" Hermione asked, suddenly very nervous.

"No! I want her to...I don't know, do something for herself. She brought so much money into the marriage and now its all gone because the marriage contract her father drew up consolidated the two fortunes into one. She got married the summer after she left Hogwarts, she's never had a job. She sits—or well, she _sat_ in the lap of luxury, past tense—for so long that she's basically useless to everyone, including herself. She's depended on the men in her life for everything, and now that they've all failed her..." Pansy trailed off.

Hermione felt very uncomfortable. She never thought that she'd feel anything but hatred and disdain for the other girl, who until an hour ago had been nothing but a bully and a death eater's child in her eyes. But the look in her eyes was full of loss and Hermione couldn't help but feel stirred by her humanitarian impulse to empathize. She stepped forward and put her hand on the other girl's shoulder in what she hoped would be interpreted as a comforting gesture.

"You don't have to be like her, you know," Hermione said quietly.

Hermione's words pulled Pansy's from her thoughts. She gave a quiet laugh and shrugged the hand off. Her own hand went quickly to her face and if Hermione hadn't know better, she'd think that Pansy was wiping away tears.

"Oh, don't mind me," Pansy said by way of apology. "I'm sure my problems must seem so inconsequential to you. You and your lot have the burden of saving then entire Wizarding World from people like me and all I can think about is my mother and her jewelry."

"Not people like you. You don't support Voldemort," Hermione had meant it as a statement, but it sounded more like a question, a hopeful one at that.

"No, I don't. But people I love do. And I support them. I don't want Voldemort to win, but I don't want my father to be in prison either. But what does it matter, I'm just a teenage girl. Who cares what I think?"

"Pansy Parkinson," Hermione said sharply. "Do not tell me that with all your bravado and swag, you actually believe yourself so powerless. You walk around Hogwarts like you own the place and I'm sure when you're an adult you're going to walk around the Ministry just the same. You're a pureblood, from a good family—or what people used to think of as good—you're in the perfect position to affect change! You may just be a teenage girl now, but you're not going to be one forever."

"I can't do that," Pansy said quietly, staring at her feet.

"You could if you had the mind to do it! The world is changing, attitudes towards muggleborn and other magical creatures are changing. Voldemort isn't going to win this, not if I have anything to say about it. If you don't support him, stand up, say something. _Do something._ Don't stand around and feel sorry for yourself, because it's not about you. It's about prejudice and hatred. I know what you and your mother are going through is horrible, but what is going to happen to muggleborns if Voldemort wins is far worse. What is going to happen to our entire world is what matters."

"It's easy for you to say," Pansy tried to sound venomous, but the words came out flat. "You were born on the side of righteousness, I wasn't. My loyalties are conflicted. I just want to make sure that me and mine get out of this all right."

Hermione huffed, unwilling to accept the other girl's excuses. "If you're going to claim to be clever, be clever! It's exactly that kind of individualist thinking that allows people like Voldemort to get into power in the first place. You can't just stick your head in the sand and let the world pass you by. You've got to recognize your privileges and your prejudices and work against them if you want to see something change. If all you care about is yourself, then you are guilty in your complicity."

Pansy looked at Hermione in shock. No one had ever spoken to her like that, ever. Hermione was forceful and honest and...right.

"How Gryffindor of you," Pansy said wryly. "And for once, I don't mean that as an insult."

Another long silence stretched over them. Hermione felt her anger subsiding as the moments passed, but her feeling of sympathy didn't return as strongly as they had before. The girls began to clean up the mess they'd made, but they didn't resume their conversation, both lost in their own thoughts. When everything was put away, they both walked towards the door. But before they left, they turned to each other.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, unsure of where they stood. "Well, thanks, Parkinson."

"Please, call me Pansy," said the other girl, as she held out her hand.

Hermione stared at it a moment, before reaching out and shaking it quickly. "Pansy," she nodded.

"Hermione," Pansy nodded back. "It was my pleasure. It's been...educational. And don't worry, I won't tell _too many_ people about you and Krum," she added with a wink.

Pansy turned left and made her way down the dungeon corridor towards Slytherin House, while Hermione turned right and made her way up the stairs and back to Gryffindor tower. When they saw each other at breakfast the next morning, they sent exchanged terse nods of acknowledgment but didn't speak. When Hermione successfully brewed their new potions assignment on Tuesday, they shared a smile. But that was it. They no longer felt the seething animosity that had defined their relationship for six years. Their hatred had been replaced by something more nuanced and conflicted, a mutual respect, but a wary one. Their awkward hour together didn't force them to see eye to eye, didn't rewrite past wrongs or prevent future ones, didn't make them suddenly friends. Hogwarts was full of magic, but it would take something more powerful than magic to make that happen. That would take work. And they both knew it would be Pansy's work to do. What remained to be unseen was if she would actually do it.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: So this is different from my normal stuff, which is usually smuttastic and full of power games. It's just something I've had in my head for the past few weeks. The point of Pansy's character in canon, according to JK, is to serve as the anti-Hermione and to represent all the horrible bitches who teased JK at school. In a way, this is partly inspired by some weird conversations I had myself as a teenager, when I was finally forced to have a speak more than three words to girls that I irrationally hated, girls who teased me and who I teased back. Girls that I thought I had nothing in common with and who I hated without question. But then you're forced to ask the question...why? Why do we hate each other? I found out more than once that all it takes to end the cycle of girl-on-girl hate is a simple apology. <strong>

**But of course, the animosity between Pansy and Hermione is **definitely** different than your normal secondary school rivalries, because it takes place on the eve of war, the positions they represent have a very real weight and real-life consequences. But despite all that, they're still teenage girls trying to figure it all out as they go along, and I wanted to see what would happen if they actually just...talked.**


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